


Prophecy Boy

by raiining



Series: Clint Barton: Vampire Slayer [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Clint Barton Vampire Slayer, F/M, M/M, vampire!Coulson, warning for suicidal-like thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's sure that most people's love lives aren't this complicated, but then again, most people aren't vampire slayers.  Everything just <i>had</i> to get difficult, didn't it?  </p>
<p>Typical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is “episode three” in my Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU and references mostly “Angel” and “Prophecy Girl” from BtVS. References are made to previous episodes in this series, so I suggest you read those first. Huge thanks to Ralkana for the cheer leading and Infiniteeight for the beta!

“… and then Tony ran around the table three times and stood on his head. Bruce said it didn’t prove anything.”

“And Steve?”

Clint grins. “Steve just laughed. I thought he was going to bust a rib.”

Phil smiles. “It sounds like Banner is fitting in.”

“Yeah, he really is. I shouldn’t be surprised – I mean, I’m _not_. Tony, Steve and Bruce all grew up together; if anything, I’m the outsider here. It’s been so long since Bruce was, well, himself, I guess, that I think Steve was afraid he’d changed.”

“Has he?”

Clint shrugs. “I don’t know. I think so. I catch him, sometimes, staring off into space. He’s got a lot to deal with.”

Phil actually looks concerned. “Has he heard from his mother?”

Clint nods. “She’s staying with her sister in Georgia. I think she talked about coming back, but Bruce told her not to. He’s happy at Tony’s, and I think he’s afraid of what could happen to her if he loses control.” Clint grimaces. “I hate to say it, but I think he’s glad she’s gone.”

“Parental relationships can be complicated.”

“You’re telling me. I mean, first Bruce stayed with his dad because his mom refused to leave. Then he started working with his dad to try and make things better, only Bruce’s father made him drink that potion, and so when his mom finally _did_ leave, he couldn’t follow. Now he’s alone, with no parents, and transforms into a giant green monster if he loses control. That’s fucked up.”

Phil smiles. “Whereas your life makes complete sense.”

“Hey!” Clint grins. “I’m a circus-freak-slash-vampire-slayer who’s living with an errant millionaire genius that failed out of MIT. There’s nothing strange about that, in comparison.”

Phil shakes his head. “You’re not a freak.”

Clint leans over and nudges his shoulder. “I kind of am.” 

Phil nudges back. They grin at each other for a moment, time stretching out between them. Just when Clint thinks maybe he should lean in or something, Phil’s smile dims and he glances away.

Clint coughs awkwardly. “So, while I’m sure my life is fascinating right now, you said you, uh, wanted to talk to me about something? I mean, before I interrupted with my epic tale of ‘The Life of Bruce and Tony’.”

“Sounds like a soap opera.”

“I could sell tickets,” Clint agrees. “If Tony weren’t so obviously hung up on Miss Carter, I’d worry for Bruce’s virtue.”

Phil smiles, but doesn’t say anything. He looks away again. “Listen,” he says, his voice heavy. “Clint, I – ”

A roar startles them both. Clint leaps off the tombstone where he’s been resting and pulls an arrow from his quiver. “Hold that thought!”

The vampire charging them is obviously a newbie. It can’t control its feeding face like the older vampires can. Instead of stopping and considering the wisdom of charging a man with a wooden bow and arrow, it just snarls and keeps running toward its perceived source of food.

Clint sights and releases. The wooden head and shaft pierce the vampire easily, and before the startled vamp can take another step, it bursts into ash.

“Sorry about that,” Clint says, turning back to Phil. “You were saying?”

Phil opens his mouth to reply, but another snarl echoes over the cemetery. Clint grimaces and turns again.

This time there are four vampires attacking, each appearing from behind the mausoleum at the centre of the cemetery. Clint frowns as he draws. He already did a sweep through earlier in the evening, before Phil arrived and they started talking. It’s strange to be attacked now.

The arrows pierce each vampire in quick succession, destroying all four, but a noise from behind him causes Clint to turn. 

Another vampire is there, rushing towards him. Phil has stepped back out of the way, giving Clint room to work. He looks as irritated as Clint feels. 

It’s just like the un-dead population to ruin his nonexistent social life. Clint hasn’t seen Phil in almost a week. That isn’t so unusual, but something good had happened between them when they last talked. Phil had saved Clint’s life when he was running from the Abomination – the thing that had been Bruce’s father, before he’d taken a potion that transformed him into a monster. After that, Phil had started tutoring Clint in English. There had been a feeling between them that Clint knows he didn’t imagine. Clint had caught Phil looking at his mouth several times. It’d felt like Phil wanted to kiss him. 

But then Phil had backed out of a date they’d planned, and Clint had gotten caught up in the thing with Bruce. He’d thought Phil would appear to help him out, but he never had. Clint had patrolled the cemetery every night since then, hoping to run into Phil. He waited for an explanation that never came.

Clint was starting to believe that he’d gotten dumped before the relationship even started, but then Phil had finally appeared. He’d look contrite enough that Clint had felt his anger dissolve.

“I’m sorry,” Phil had said, when he’d come into view around a tombstone. “I got caught up in a few things.”

Clint had pursed his lips, but believed him. “What kind of things?”

Phil had grimaced. “Family stuff,” he’d said. The explanation was so far from what Clint had thought Phil would say, that he hadn’t known what to ask next. “I’ve got something I need to tell you, though.”

Clint had nodded, prepared to listen, but then Phil had surprised him by shifting topics. “How are things going with Bruce?” he’d asked. 

It had been an obvious evasion, but Clint hadn’t minded. He liked talking with Phil. He had an interesting perspective, and there wasn’t anyone else Clint could talk to about this kind of thing. Tony and Steve had known Bruce too long, and while it was nice to have Bruce in the group, it was different, too. Clint had gotten used to having Tony and Steve all to himself. He'd never had real friends before, and he selfishly didn't want to share.

Clint had to admit that having Bruce staying at the Mansion was a big help, though. Tony was great and everything, but he could be a bit of a handful sometimes. Plus, Bruce got the science stuff that Tony tended to ramble on about. That was nice.

Clint tried to explain all of this to Phil, who nodded and actually looked interested in what Clint had to say. He’d started asking questions and Clint had answered. He’d almost forgotten Phil'd had something he wanted to tell Clint when they started.

And now, just when Phil was finally getting to the point, the vampires decided to attack. Typical. Clint shoots an arrow at the vamp charging him close range, and then throws his bow over his shoulder. The vamp _behind_ that one charges through the ash cloud of the vamp Clint dusted, and Clint goes for his knife.

Fury had given him a wooden knife to replace the one Jason had broken Clint’s first night in Sunnydale. He keeps it at the small of his back, tucked into the waist of his jeans. 

Clint ducks the vampire’s first strike and then lunges forward with his knife. The vamp obviously has no idea who it’s dealing with, because it leaves itself wide open. Clint plunges the wooden knife into the vampire’s heart. It explodes in a shower of ash.

For a moment, the graveyard is silent. Clint has a second to consider the unlikely rush of newbies, to wonder if it could be some kind of distraction – 

And then Phil is yelling at him to get down. 

Clint can’t resist looking around. Phil tackles him behind a granite headstone before he has a chance to see more than a vague impression of three vampires carrying box-like shapes. A moment later the air erupts with the sound of gunfire, bullets digging deep furrows into the ground and pinging off the headstones.

Semi-automatics, Clint realizes, as the granite around him chips and shatters. 

Phil curses, low in his throat. Clint stares at him. He’s never heard Phil swear before.

“On the count of three, I want you to run,” Phil says. His mouth is pressed to Clint’s ear, which is the only reason Clint can hear him. “Get behind the mausoleum and make a break for it.”

“What? No! I’m not leaving you!”

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” Phil says tightly. “On the count of three – ”

“No.” Clint grabs Phil’s suit jacket. “We go together – into the mausoleum; we can take the tunnel system out.”

Phil looks like he wants to argue, so Clint presses his only advantage. “It’s that, or we don’t go at all. If I roll left, I could take out at least one of them with my bow.”

Phil shakes his head. “No – you’re fast, Clint, but they’re vampires. Old ones. They’ve dealt with Slayers before, which is probably why they’ve wised up and decided to embrace technology.” His face tightens in concentration. 

Finally, Phil huffs out a breath. “Fine. We go together. Can you create a distraction?”

The hail of bullets hasn’t let up, but Clint thinks the clip will have to run out soon. He reaches back for his bow and nods. 

“Okay,” Phil says. “When you’re ready, then.”

They wait until there's a pause in firing. Clint aims an awkward shot with his bow, still crouched behind the now-pockmarked granite headstone. There’s an oak tree three rows down that houses a murder of crows. He aims at the branches and mentally apologizes to the birds.

He fires, and the tree erupts into an angry black cloud. The vampires reload their clips and turn to fire at the sound. Phil pushes Clint out from cover and towards the mausoleum. They barely make it inside before the vampires realize their mistake and spin around, redirecting their fire.

The sound is muted inside the mausoleum, but Clint knows how fast vampires can move. He rushes to the grate cover that he’d smashed open the first night he’d come to Sunnydale. It’s been replaced, but not repaired. Phil reaches it first and lifts the cover, holding it open for Clint to dive inside. Phil follows him into the old electrical access, replacing the cover behind them. Together they retreat into the darkness.

The ground is wet and they move slowly to avoid a splash. Both men keep their ears trained on the activity outside, but no one seems to be following them. Clint focuses on finding their way out of the tunnels without running into the Master’s crew. If he keeps going downward, he’ll run into more trouble than he’s prepared to deal with tonight.

After a few left turns that are mostly guesses, Phil taps Clint on the shoulder to show him the way. Clint remembers that Phil had been the one to give him directions the first time. It’s a chilling reminder of how little Clint really knows about the older man.

A glance back to confirm the directions distracts him, though. Phil is holding his left shoulder and wincing. Clint stops and spins towards him. “You’re hit!”

“It’s not that bad,” Phil protests. He pushes Clint forward. “We can deal with it later.”

Clint grits his teeth. They’re in the middle of what is essentially enemy territory, and Phil is moving under his own power. He’s clearly going to survive the time it will take to get topside, but that doesn’t mean Clint has to like it. He increases the pace, making sure that Phil can keep up, and soon enough they emerge into the cool night air about a half a block from Sunnydale High.

The sky is still dark, but there’s lightness to the East. Clint looks back at Phil. “Can you make it to the high school? I can take Fury’s car and get you to the hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Phil grits out. “It hurts, but it’s not going to kill me. Let’s get to the school. I want you out of the open.”

“I’m not the one who's been shot,” Clint points out.

“But you _are_ the one they wanted dead,” Phil replies. “Move your ass, Barton.”

Clint can’t help but grin. “Sir, yes, sir,” he says. Phil rolls his eyes. 

They cross the distance to the high school quickly. Clint uses the key Fury gave him to get inside. 

The lights are on the library. Clint ushers Phil inside just as Fury steps out of the backroom.

“Barton,” Fury says, but he’s staring at Phil. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

“It’s early,” Clint corrects. He gestures at Phil. “We got jumped in the cemetery. Phil’s hurt.”

Fury looks concerned, but he sets his jaw. “In the cemetery?”

“We were having a discussion,” Phil says, something Clint can’t read in his voice. “We were interrupted.”

Fury stares at Phil for another moment, something unsaid passing between them, but then he sighs. It’s like a valve releasing the tension from the air. “I’ll get the kit.”

Clint pushes Phil into a library chair and carefully peels back his suit jacket. Underneath, his white button-up is stained with blood, but it’s dark and odd-looking. Clint squints at the old yellow halogen lights in the library – the strange colour of the blood must be the crapping lighting. What’s important is that on the shirt, there’s a hole in the front and a clean exit through the back.

“Looks like a through-and-through,” Clint says. “Take your shirt off and we’ll bandage it up.”

Phil gives him a tired smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“If I wanted to see you naked,” Clint says, ignoring the blush he can feel rising in his cheeks, “I would have picked a more romantic setting. Now, off.”

Phil grimaces but starts on his buttons. It’s difficult with only one hand, and in the end Clint has to help him out. Fury comes back to find Phil leaning forward as Clint gingerly peels the ruined shirt off his back. 

“There,” Clint says. He licks his lips and tries not to stare at the pale, smooth expansive of Phil’s skin, because that would be taking advantage of the situation. Instead he swallows and leans away. 

Fury sighs, but hands him the medical supplies without comment. Clint braces Phil with one hand on his shoulder and irrigates the wound with saline. When it's clean, he presses sterile gauze to both the entry and exit points and tapes it up.

“That should do it,” Clint says. “You’ve mostly stopped bleeding and that’s the important thing. Now all we have to do is stave off infection.”

“Infection won’t be a problem,” Phil says. “It’s the blood loss I’m more worried about.”

“Are you hungry, Phil?” Fury asks. There’s something funny in his voice, but his tone is serious.

“I’m okay,” Phil says. He turns to Clint and smiles. “Are you going to give me something to wear, or do you want to ogle me some more first?”

Clint sticks out his tongue, and Phil laughs. It makes him wince and put a hand to his shoulder, but Clint thinks it’s worth it.

“I’ve got an extra shirt in my locker,” Clint says. “It might not fit too well, but it’s clean.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

Clint nods and steps into the corridor. Outside, the sun is rising. He couldn’t tell inside the library – there aren’t many windows there. 

Clint grabs his extra shirt and walks back to Phil. “It’s not cashmere,” he teases. 

Phil smiles, but it’s a tired expression. “I think I’ll survive. Got somewhere I can sleep? I’m pretty beat.”

Fury stands before Clint can respond. “In the back,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

Phil gives him a look before following. Clint watches him turn the corner of the shelves with Fury. He’s suspected that the Watcher kept a cot in the backroom, but he’s never had proof before now.

He’s itching with curiosity, but when Fury comes back alone the look on his face shuts Clint down before he can ask about all the subtext he’d caught between Fury and Phil. 

“I’m gonna head back to Tony’s,” Clint says instead. 

Fury surprises him by shaking his head. “No – I’m sorry, Clint, but I’m going to have to ask you to lay low for a while. The vampires that shot at you, they’re operating off-script. I can’t predict what they’ll do next and if they follow you back to Stark’s place, no one there will be safe.”

“The sun’s up – they can’t follow me anywhere right now,” Clint points out.

Fury lifts an eyebrow. “You’re assuming they don’t have other contacts in town. Considering you were almost killed tonight, I don’t think assuming anything is wise.”

Clint makes a face. “So I have to stay here?”

“You can crash in the teacher’s lounge – I’ll show you where it is.”

“Or I could make sure Phil’s okay, and just – ”

“No, Barton.”

Clint sighs. “Okay, fine. Lead the way.”

 

*

 

The teacher’s lounge has a lumpy couch that should not be comfortable, but somehow is. Maybe it’s because he’s so tired, or maybe because he’s slept in worse places than this before. Whatever it is, Clint’s head has barely hits the pillow before he’s out like a light.

He wakes up a few hours later as the school begins to fill with students. He hasn’t slept for long, but it’s enough. Clint doesn’t need much sleep anymore – a few hours and he’s good to go. It’s one of the perks of being the Slayer.

Fury’s in the library when Clint wanders back. He detours to the showers first, snagging a towel from the boy’s locker room. It feels gross to put on yesterday’s clothes, and Clint laughs at himself when he makes a face. He’s gotten soft.

Tony and Bruce show up for class and Steve meets them in the library during lunch. Everyone wants to know what happened the night before and they’re dying to meet Phil.

“He’s still sleeping,” Fury tells them. Clint can tell that Tony wants to ‘casually wander by’ to check him out, but Fury stops him with a look. They spend the break researching the vampires that came after Clint instead. 

Fury rubs his one eye. He’s clearly been at this since Clint showed up with Phil in tow. “They’re called ‘The Three’,” the Watcher explains. “They’re ancient vampires who take contracts for hire. Evidently, the Master has hired them to eliminate the new threat in town. Clint, I’m afraid that’s you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be – the Three are expensive, by demon standards, but they never fail. They won’t stop hunting you.”

“So we should find their lair,” Steve says, tapping the book Fury’s pulled on the Three. “Go after them before they come after us.”

“There is no ‘us’ in this,” Clint warns. “Just me. I want the three of you to stay here – these guys don’t mess around.”

“They aren’t going to scare us off,” Tony scoffs. “We’ve got your back, Clint.”

“I know,” Clint says. He smiles. “And I’m glad. But they used semi-automatics, Tony. What are they going to do next? Blow up the school?”

“They could do that?” Bruce asks. He looks worried.

“They could,” Fury agrees, “but it would be their last option. Demons generally don’t want humans involved – the Master certainly wouldn’t want to create a panic that might empty the town before he can emerge and feed.” He taps the book. “Most likely, the Three will stalk Clint and whoever he’s with. They’ll try to keep any disturbances to a minimum.”

“I think shooting up a graveyard at midnight would qualify as slightly more than ‘minimum’,” Tony grouses, but it’s under his breath. “Fine, we’ll keep our distance. Maybe JARVIS can help us track these guys down.”

“You got him installed at the house, yet?” Clint asks, curious.

Tony rocks back on his heels, grinning. “Yup – up and running as of this morning. Anyone tries anything on the property, and he’ll see it.”

“Good.” Clint nods. “I want the three of you to hang out there, then. Let JARVIS keep you safe.”

“But The Bronx tonight!” Tony exclaims. “I had plans! Dancing plans!”

Clint shakes his head. “Cancel plans. Evil gun-wielding demons, remember?”

Tony pouts, and Bruce laughs. He tugs Tony to his feet. 

“Don’t worry,” Bruce says. “I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

“You do that,” Clint says. He looks over at Steve. “You okay there, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, but he sounds distracted. He looks at Fury. “I think Ms. Carter is looking for you. She was saying something this morning about a ‘rain of toads’?”

Fury grimaces. “That’s the problem with history teachers – they're naturally too curious about unusual events. She wants to use the library to research phenomena that isn't available on-line.”

Clint frowns and glances around the library. “She’s gonna have questions about the number of supernatural books you have in stock, sir.”

“I know that,” Fury sighs. “She already has questions. I think Ms. Carter has an interest in the supernatural world; I’m just unsure what that interest entails. Leave her to me. The three of you get to class – Stark, that means you too.”

“But Ms. Carter might have questions! Questions I can answer to woo her with my brilliance!”

“No.”

“But – !”

“No, Stark.”


	2. Chapter 2

The school day passes with frustrating slowness. Clint can’t even duck back to the library between classes, because every teacher seems to have something they want to say to him. He does get a B- on his assignment for English class, though, which is a massive improvement over his usual grades. He practically skips back to the library after the end of the day, excited to show Phil.

Voices from the library stop him. Clint hesitates a moment, then quietly slips inside. He can hear Fury and Phil talking in the back room.

“… she’s not wrong, Nick. The cat that gave birth to snakes last week, and the rain of toads yesterday? That can’t be a coincidence.”

“I told you, I’m looking into it. I don't have a complete list of prophecies in my possession, though. I could go to the Council – ”

“I don’t trust the Council,” Phil interrupts.

Fury sounds frustrated. “I know you don’t, and you have no reason to. I understand that. Frankly, I don’t trust them either, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“The toads happened not five miles east of Sunnydale. I think it’s safe to say that the Master is involved in this somehow.”

“Which means that Clint is, too.”

“Exactly. What if I could get you a copy of the Pergamum Codex?”

There’s a pause. Clint strains his ears. 

“Is that possible?” Fury asks. “Why did you never mention this before?”

“I’ve only recently begun looking.”

Fury sounds strained. “This is about Clint, isn’t it?”

Clint’s heart is pounding. It takes everything he has not to move. 

Phil sounds amused. “Considering the Pergamum Codex contains the most complete list of prophecies related to the Slayer? Yes, I’d say this _is_ about Clint.”

“You know what I mean,” Fury retorts. “This is about you and your feelings for Clint.”

Phil’s voice turns hard. “Do you want a copy or not?”

The library door bangs open and Tony steps inside. “Hello hello, mysterious ones!”

Clint sighs. He steps towards the door and Tony’s eyes light up as he sees him. “Clint! Come to brag about your English test?”

Phil appears from behind the shelves. He smiles at Clint. “English test?”

Clint holds up the paper. It feels stupid now, thinking about an English test when there’s apparently a whole set of prophecies about him. “Um, yeah. B minus.”

“That’s excellent!” Phil says. He sounds genuinely pleased.

Beside Clint, Tony is literally bouncing on his toes. “You must be the mysterious Phil.” He sticks out his hand. “It is very nice to finally meet you.”

Phil hesitates, but shakes his hand. “And you must be Tony Stark.”

“The one and only!” Tony beams, but flinches back from where he touched Phil. “Wow, your hands are freezing! What, did Fury turn the heat off back there?”

Phil chuckles. “It’s a little cool on the cot, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“How are you feeling?” Clint asks. Phil’s still wearing the shirt Clint gave him and there’s no sign of blood at the shoulder.

“I’m okay,” Phil reassures him. 

“I should still check it out. Make sure it doesn’t look infected.”

Phil hesitates, glancing back at Fury. The watcher says nothing, and Phil’s jaw tightens. He looks back at Clint. “That’s a good idea, actually.”

Fury doesn’t look happy. Clint ignores him and crosses to Phil, taking his hand and leading him to the back room. His hand _is_ cold.

“How much blood did you lose?” Clint asks Phil, as they cross the library. Fury’s back room is actually up a few steps. Clint can see a writing desk and a cot on the floor. “Do you need something to eat?”

Phil makes a sound, low in his throat. It’s almost a growl, but not. Clint turns back to him and Phil’s eyes snap to his face. Clint can’t tell where he was looking, but the thought of Phil looking anywhere makes him blush. 

“I’m fine,” Phil says. There’s an odd note in his voice. 

“Um, okay. You should take your shirt off, though. I want to see your shoulder.”

Phil’s fingers stutter along the helm of his borrowed shirt for a minute, before they still. He lifts the shirt up and over his head, once again exposing the pale, smooth expanse of his chest.

Clint gives himself a second to stare before looking up to Phil’s shoulder. The bandages are still in place, and nothing looks to have soaked through.

“It looks good,” Clint says. His voice is lower than he means it to be, intimate.

“I heal fast,” Phil replies. He’s leaning forward slightly, his eyes on Clint’s mouth.

Clint inhales. He can feel his pulse fluttering in his throat. “Phil…”

Phil takes a deep breath in, like he’s memorizing Clint’s scent. “I did _not_ want to do this here,” Phil murmurs.

“Do what here?” Clint asks, but his concentration is fixed on Phil’s mouth.

“This,” Phil says, and leans in to kiss him.

The kiss is everything a first kiss should be – hot but tentative. Clint feels the delicate press of Phil’s lips, still a little cool. Phil’s arms come up to surround him, and that feels _perfect_. Clint groans, and Phil takes the opportunity to lick his way into Clint’s mouth. Phil’s tongue is hotter than the rest of him, questing, and it feels good – deliciously good – to brush his own tongue along Phil’s.

But then suddenly Phil’s face is changing – shifting. His arms tighten around Clint, locking him into place. Phil’s mouth moves under his, warping, and Clint’s tongue runs along something sharp. 

Clint gasps and leans away. Phil’s arms hold him in place, and Clint can taste blood in his mouth. He stares at Phil as the man’s face completes its change. His eyes turn yellow and hard, and Clint finds himself staring into the predator gaze of a vampire. 

He can’t help himself.

Clint screams.

 

*

 

Phil curses and releases Clint. The sudden lack of pressure startles him, and for the first time since gaining his Slayer powers, Clint stumbles. Phil backs away. There’s a noise from below in the library and Phil looks down at the shelves before leaping back. He’s across the small room and out the window before Clint can gather his breath. It's daylight outside, but Clint runs to the window and watches as Phil darts from shadow to shadow until he’s out of Clint’s sight.

Fury and Tony burst upstairs. They’ve obviously come running from the library floor. Fury looks from Clint to the broken window and sighs. “Fucking hell.”

Clint stares at him. 

Fury turns to his desk and opens a bottom drawer, revealing a tumbler of whiskey. He pulls out the bottle and two shot glasses. “Have a seat, Barton.”

“You knew,” Clint says instead of moving, staring at his Watcher. “You _knew_!”

Fury pours. “I knew.”

“Why the hell didn’t you _tell_ me?!”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“Uh, excuse me,” Tony pips up, “but what the fuck is going on here?”

Clint glares at Fury. “Phil’s a vampire.”

“He’s a _what_?!”

“A vampire,” Clint spits. He points at his Watcher. “And _he_ knew this entire time!”

Fury hands Clint the shot and takes the other for himself. “I said – sit _down_ , Clint.”

“So what, you’re giving a minor alcohol now, Fury?” Tony sounds pissed. 

“For this conversation? You’re fucking right I am, Stark. Get lost – go find Rogers or something. I need to talk to Clint. You’ll get the details later.”

Tony ignores him and stares at Clint. “Do you want me to stay?”

Clint doesn’t know what he wants. He’s holding the shot glass, though, and it seems like a good idea to drink it. He shoots the whiskey back and feels it burn. He puts the glass down.

“I’m okay, Tony. Go find Steve – he’ll want to hear about this later because of Bucky.”

Tony’s shoulders droop, but he nods. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

Clint nods and stares at his Watcher. Fury drinks his shot.

“How long have you known?” Clint asks.

“About three decades,” Fury says. Clint’s jaw drops open. Fury stares blindly at the wall, his gaze unfocused.

“I was a new Watcher with the Council,” Fury goes on. “Mostly research, nothing special. There was a string of unusual murders in France and vampires were suspected. I was sent to investigate. Right away I knew something wasn’t right – this wasn’t just a random vampire attack. It reminded me of a case I’d read about from the 1800’s. I looked it up and read about a trio of vampires running around Europe, causing havoc. This new scene fit their M.O. I tried to convince the Council there was a connection, but no one wanted to listen to a little shit like me.” Fury snorts. “I went ahead and proved I was a junior idiot by deciding to hunt the vampires down myself.”

“And you found Phil,” Clint guesses. 

Fury nods. “And I found Phil, or rather – Phil found me. It turned out that for a vampire, Phil was surprisingly well educated. He knew the Council was tracking his activities and he knew they’d send someone after him and his team. He didn’t expect me, though.”

Fury pours them both another shot. “See, it turns out that the vampires in question were killing people with a very specific goal. They wanted to bring about hell on earth – literal Hell on Earth; they were trying to open a portal to reach Hell. Kind of like an artificial Hellmouth. Phil and his sire had been dragged into the effort, but Phil’s heart wasn’t in it. He liked this world; he told me that when he explained what was going on. He didn’t want to see it end in flames. So instead of acting like a normal vampire and just killing me, he helped me out instead.”

Clint can’t do anything but stare. Fury sighs and drinks his whiskey.

“Phil saved my life three times over the next two weeks. We stopped the ritual and averted the apocalypse. We kept in touch after that, arranged a system we could use to communicate -- leaving messages with the local post-office when one or another of us was in town. Phil has helped me out of a few tight spots over the years, and in return I’ve kept his activities quiet from the Council.”

Clint tries to think his way through these revelations. “So he’s a… good… vampire?”

Fury shakes his head. “He’s a vampire, Clint. He doesn’t have a soul. He will never age. He’s killed countless people in numberless countries for far longer than either of us has been alive, and then some. He’s not a good person.”

Fury pours himself another shot, and then stands to puts the whiskey back in his drawer. 

“That being said, he _has_ helped me out in the past, and it seems now as if he wants to help you. I can’t tell you what to say or what to do about him, and frankly if you decide to dust him, I won’t be surprised. I’m just telling you what I know. Phil Coulson is a demon. He’s also, in some ways, a friend.”

Clint absorbs that. He puts down his still-full second shot. “I want to talk to him.”

“I’m sure you do,” Fury says. He shakes his head. “I don’t know were to find him, but I can tell you the kind of places he usually stays. That will give you a start.”

Clint nods and pulls out his phone. He’s going to need Tony.

 

*

 

Phil crashes into his rented apartment, skidding the last few steps. The burning pressure eases off his back the instant he escapes the death glare of the sun. He sighs with relief.

He’s always preferred apartments downtown – simple, inexpensive, and conveniently located near city tunnel access. He knew most vampires used basements or slept in crypts, but Phil liked to find his humanity where he could. Money wasn’t an issue, and he liked modern electricity. A second floor apartment, then, the rent just exclusive enough that no one with kids or dogs would attempt to speak to him. 

Sometimes, though, Phil misses the comfort of being underground. 

He’d found a used blanket in a garbage bin and managed to keep the worst of the sun off his back. Jumping out a window into broad daylight without even a shirt on had not been the soundest of plans. There was a reason Phil preferred a comforting suit.

Calling it a ‘plan’ is a gross exaggeration, anyway. Phil takes a glass from the cupboard and fills it with O-negative blood from the fridge. Ever since he began this – whatever this is – with the Slayer, he’s been reacting more than planning.

He has to stop.

Phil takes a long swing of the cold blood, then turns and throws the glass across the room.

It shatters against the wall, glass splintering and blood droplets ricocheting away from the impact. Phil realizes he’s shaking, unnecessary breath coming hard through his nose and mouth.

A slow, measured clap echoes from the doorway to his bedroom. Phil starts and looks towards the sound.

Maria is leaning against his door frame. She looks exactly the same as she always has, her beautiful face unchanged over the many centuries that he’s known her.

“I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been able to sneak up on you, Phil. This boy really has you twisted in knots, doesn’t he?”

Phil straightens and turns his back to her, ignoring her as he goes to the closet and retrieves the broom and dustbin. He tries not to show how much effort it takes him, but he’s sure Maria can see it in the tension along his spine.

“Then again,” she goes on, “he _is_ the Slayer. You know, out of all of us, I never pegged you for the one with a death wish. That was always Jason. Your grandsire might have been erratic, but at least he was fun while he lasted. I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you.”

He sweeps glass into the dust pan, careful where he puts his feet. “I’m sorry I’ve turned out to be such a disappointment,” he says in his blandest voice.

“It’s just that you had such _potential_ ,” Maria goes on. “When I found you, you were already the brightest soul in the village. I knew you could do so much if I turned you, could wreak such havoc on the world. But that didn’t satisfy you for long, did it Phil? You just _had_ to turn against us.”

“I turned against Blake and his mad plan,” Phil points out, depositing the glass splinters carefully in the wastebasket. “You saw the numbers, Maria. You know that if he had succeeded the vampire population would have skyrocketed. How long would it have been before we’d turned on each other? A century, maybe two? With the human world destroyed, what would we do then?”

“Whatever we wanted.”

Phil shakes his head. “It wouldn’t work. You know that – you were never as crazy or as glory-bound as Blake. You know the same will happen if this Master rises.”

Maria’s eyes glitter. “You are not even worthy to speak his name.”

“I don’t know his name,” Phil says, making his point. “He’s got you all tied up in a crazy fanatical cult mindset. I should be staging an intervention.”

“Instead you’re making goo-goo eyes at the Slayer.”

“I’m trying to save you, Maria. You know this.”

“I know that you’re working with the enemy!” Maria shouts. She starts forward, her lithe, lethal body encased in her favourite cat suit. Phil forces himself not to tense. 

Maria backs off, shaking. “It doesn’t matter, Phil. Your boy is still going to lose. You can work against the Master all you want, but the boy will die. It says so in the prophecies.”

“The Pergamum Codex? You have a copy?”

“Of course I do, the Master has been handing them out like candy. Why should he not? When they foretell his rise and the Slayer's fall?” Maria grins. “ _Ho korias phanaytie toutay tay nuktee_ ,” she recites. “The Master shall rise and the Slayer shall die.”

Phil feels his heart, whatever is left of it, clench in his chest.

Maria smiles at him. Only Phil knows her well enough to see the fear she has buried beneath the expression. “I can get you a copy, if you like. You can read for yourself that the Slayer dies.”

A low, echoing laugh comes from the corner of the room. Both Phil and Maria spin around to see Clint on the windowsill, his face twisted with unnatural mirth.

“So that’s it?” Clint says, speaking to the room at large. “I remember the drill – one Slayer dies and the next is called. I wonder who it’ll be?” He looks at Phil. “Are you gonna stalk the next one, too? Or was I special?”

“Clint…” Phil says. He starts forward.

“Don’t touch me!” Clint leaps down from the windowsill and turns towards the kitchen. He paces for a moment before looking at Maria.

“Who's going to do it? You? Or will your Master take the honor himself?”

Maria’s scared – Phil can see that. She’s always talked tough, but she’s deep in the Master's thrall now. No matter what the prophecy says, Clint is still the Slayer and the Master isn’t here. 

She puts a good face on it, though, tossing her unbound hair over her shoulder and shrugging.

“I don’t need to kill you, and neither do the Three. They’ve been called off, by the way – permanently. It seems the Master wants the honor himself after all.” She grins at the two of them. “I’ll see you later, Phillip. Slayer, I’m sure I won’t see you at all.”

She squares her shoulders and walks right between them to the door. Phil can’t deny that she’s got guts, and he sees a glimmer of the woman he used to idolize in the set of her shoulders as she actually turns her back on the Slayer. Part of Phil wants to attack her, but Clint is slowly shaking to pieces across the room. Phil can’t leave him like that just to exact some petty revenge for breaking into his apartment.

Maria leaves unmolested and Phil turns back to his Slayer.

“Clint…” he tries again. Cling folds his arms around himself. 

“Do you think it’ll hurt?” Clint asks, looking scared. “Does he like to draw things out, this Master of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Phil confesses. “And he’s not my Master, Clint. He never was.”

“Right, because you’re a vampire,” Clint says. “I haven’t forgotten that. I came here to talk to you about it, because Fury says even though you’re a life-sucking demon, you’ve saved his life more than once. You’ve saved mine, too. So what’s the deal – you play nice with the Slayer, get them to, to what – ? To feel things for you? Is that your game, Phil? Were you going to attack me at home, maybe? In Tony’s house?”

“No, Clint,” Phil says, desperate for him to believe. “No, I wasn’t –” He stops himself with a shuttering sigh. “I’ve never done this before,” he confesses. “When you asked, before, if you were special,” he looks up and catches Clint’s eye. “You are. You always have been.”

Clint’s teeth are chattering – he’s going into shock. Phil can’t take being so far away from him anymore – he crosses the room and scoops Clint into his arms, holding him tight and offering what comfort he can.

Clint tenses, and for a moment Phil thinks he really is going to dust him. But then Clint relaxes in one explosive sob and goes boneless in Phil’s arms. Phil holds him tight and walks them both back to the couch, collapsing on it and dragging Clint down with him.

There’s no danger this time, no rising heat between them. Phil’s feeding face stays firmly under his control, and he doesn’t even think about how good Clint smells. All he wants to do is comfort the Slayer.

Maria was right – Phil _is_ losing it. The problem is, he’s too far gone to stop now, no matter what promise he made to Fury a week ago.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint cries for a good ten minutes, too much fear and uncertainty, too much going on in his young life that he hasn’t stopped to process. He’s the Slayer, all his friends are dead, Fury’s dragged him to Sunnydale, and his life has been nothing but a rollercoaster since then. Phil himself hasn’t helped, appearing out of the blue to guide Clint with cryptic warnings and then vanishing just when he’s needed the most.

Clint shakes in Phil’s arms until he slowly brings himself under control. Phil’s skin is cool, but it still feels good – Clint feels protected, which is insane.

“So, you’re a vampire,” he finally says. He’s muttering into Phil’s chest, his pale smooth skin red and burned from the sun, but already healing.

He can feel Phil nod. “Yes. I was turned two hundred and eighty-six years ago, in 1727.”

The numbers feel unreal to Clint. He can’t comprehend that kind of age, he’s only sixteen. “And that woman – the vampire who was here – she turned you?”

Phil sighs. “Yes. Maria Hill. She was born in the British Virgin Islands, in the 16th century. We ran together for several years.”

Clint nods. “Until the business with Fury, in France.”

“He told you about that?” Phil sounds surprised.

“Yeah. I think he wanted to explain why he hadn’t told me about you, and why he hasn’t tried to dust you yet.”

“Oh, he tried,” Phil says. He chuckles. “Didn’t do so bad of a job of it, the day we first met. Nick Fury has some interesting moves.”

“So you did help him,” Clint presses.

Phil closes his eyes. “Yes, I did. But that doesn’t make me a good guy, Clint. I’ve done things, terrible things, and I don’t feel guilty about them even now. I’m dead, Clint. I have no soul. I’ve accepted that.”

Clint can see that Phil believes that, but he’s not sure about the ‘no guilt’ thing. Phil has his eyes closed as if the truth pains him, or maybe it’s just that he hates admitting it to Clint. “But you’re doing the right thing now, helping me, trying to stop the Master.”

Phil shakes his head and stands up from the couch. “I’m hungry,” he says, changing the subject, “and I don’t want to lose control again. I’m going to get some blood, okay?”

Clint nods and watches as Phil walks first to his bedroom and takes a shirt from his closet. It’s a button-up, like he usually wears, and he slips it on. His shoulder is working much better than it was a few hours ago – he’s able to do up the buttons with both hands, fingers slipping dexterously through the fabric. 

Clint’s glad when Phil has his shirt on. He doesn’t like to look at his too-quickly-healing skin. It’s a visceral reminder of what Phil really is.

Of course, Phil ruins the human illusion by going to the fridge and opening it to reveal rows upon rows of cooled human blood. They’re packed in donation bags, blood type labeled prominently on the front. He takes an A+ out and opens it with a pair of scissors, carefully pouring the contents into a mug. He places the mug in the microwave for two minutes and throws the blood bag into the garbage with casual grace.

“Do you raid hospitals on Friday nights or something?” Clint asks hoarsely. “Is that your big night out?”

Phil smiles. “I actually worked in a blood donation research laboratory for several years. It was good work – underground, and therefore safe. It was interesting. My old partners think I still run experiments, so they send me shipments of blood on a bi-weekly basis, bags that have been contaminated and can’t be used by the system. Vampires can’t get AIDS or hepatitis B.” Phil shrugs. “It’s an efficient system.”

“For someone who says they have no soul, you seem to spend a lot of effort protecting those of us who do.”

Phil frowns. “It’s simply the most efficient method of getting what I need, without involving the authorities. Human police activities have become much more advanced in the last century, and Sunnydale is a rather small town to stalk at midnight. Sooner or later I’d be caught and forced to leave.”

“Most vampires don’t seem to care about that kind of thing,” Clint points out. “What changed for you? And don’t tell me it was Fury – I like the guy, but you must have been had doubts before you met him.”

Phil avoids his eye. The microwave beeps and he takes out the mug, blowing softly over the hot liquid. He comes back around the couch and sits beside Clint. Clint takes a deliberate inhale – the smell is potent, but it isn’t gross. It smells like iron.

“I did a lot of evil things, Clint, and I haven’t been a boy scout for the past thirty years. There was no specific thing that happened, but Fury was definitely a catalyst. Mostly, I just wasn’t satisfied with my work. Running around destroying villages gets a little old.”

“So what do you do now?” Clint presses. 

“Besides stalk you, you mean?”

“Exactly,” Clint says. He narrows his eyes. “And yes, a few more details about that _would_ be appreciated.”

Phil sighs. He takes a sip of his blood. 

“I first saw you in Des Moines,” Phil confesses. Clint sucks in a breath. “You were…” he shakes his head, something like awe coming into his voice. “You were incredible, Clint. I knew the second I saw you that you had to be a Potential. You shone, when everyone around you was as dull as dust.

“I followed the circus for a while. You were young – maybe ten, eleven. I thought about getting involved, but there’s a suspicion that proximity to vampires is what triggers the progression from Potential to Slayer. As much as I admired you, I didn’t want to draw you into that life. I left.

“I moved around for a while, keeping in contact with Fury and some other people I know. Several months ago I heard about a vampire rising out west – they wanted to go public, turning large numbers of the population and forcing the truth about vampires out into the world.” Phil waves a hand. “I’ve seen these types before – cultists, mostly. They’re usually harmless, but this sect appeared rather well organized.

“I tracked down their leaders, but by then it was too late. The turning had started. I heard later that they had infiltrated the circus and were trying to stage an uprising there. I’m not sure if they knew they had a Potential in their midst, or if they just got lucky – or unlucky, as the case may be. Either way, they attacked. You got out alive, for which I can only be grateful, but the rest of your adoptive family was not so fortunate.

“A few hours later, the Slayer was killed. I was not in that battle, but I knew she took out several key players before she was killed. That night, you became the Slayer."

Clint takes a shuddering breath, remembering the veil of power settling into his bones. He had been fleeing in Buck’s car, napping at a rest-stop with both hands on his bow. Phil must see that he’s lost in memories, because he pauses and takes another sip from his mug before going on.

“I learned from one of the vampire lieutenants that the uprising was ultimately endorsed by the Master. I had heard of this Master before, and I knew Maria had been seduced by his cult. I’d kept my distance, but this new development was worrying. The Master sounded like Blake used to – wanting to take over the world. I knew such a thing would be disastrous, not only for humans but for the vampire population at large. I discovered the probable location of the Master and set off for Sunnydale.” He pauses. “I had… hoped… that I would meet you here. I couldn’t be certain of that, however.”

“You didn’t go to Fury when you first showed up in town?”

Phil shakes his head. “No. I knew that Nick had been promoted, and I figured that he’d be selected to train the next Slayer when they appeared. I… didn’t know if it would be you, Clint. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be. I’m sorry.”

Clint frowns. “You don’t have to apologize. I get that being the Slayer isn’t a long-time gig, that the lifespan of Slayers is short.” He bites his lip and looks at his hands, clenching them tight. “I thought I would get longer than this, though.”

Phil puts down his mug and takes his shoulders. “Look at me, Clint,” he says. “I am not going to let anything happen to you, do you understand me? Prophecies are notoriously unreliable. I’m not putting my faith in anything but you.”

The words help, but Clint’s still shaking. “I don’t want to do this, Phil. Can’t we just… go? Leave? Can we do that?”

Phil doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Absolutely. Give me five minutes and I’ll pack, fill the car with gas, and we can be on the road with the sunset. Just give the word, Clint, and we can go anywhere you want.”

The utter sincerely in Phil’s voice steadies him. Clint takes a deep breath. “Thanks. I think I just… needed to hear that. It helps.”

Clint stands. Phil stays sitting on the coach. He looks wary. “What are you going to do?”

“First?” Clint asks. “I’m going to find Fury.”

“If you do anything –” Phil hurries to his feet. “Clint, if you’re going to do anything, wait for the sunset, okay? Give me an hour, and I will go anywhere with you.”

“Anywhere, Phil?”

Phil doesn’t look away. “Anywhere,” he promises. 

Clint smiles. “Thanks. I will. I promise.”

Phil lets him leave the apartment. Clint steps outside into the late-afternoon sun. The rays are bright, still dangerous for vampires like Phil, but Clint turns his head up to the sky.

He feels bad for lying to Phil, but Phil’s two hundred and eighty-six plus however old he was when he was turned. He might like Clint now, but he’ll get over it. 

Clint doesn’t want to do this. He’s only sixteen, and fuck – he has so much to live for. But in many ways Clint knows he’s been lucky – he should have died as child, under his father’s fists, or that night he and Barney slept outside in January, huddled under a bridge for warmth. He should have died in the circus, from tetanus or a fall – he’d climbed the high wire too many times without a net, just to prove that he could.

Clint knows he’s lived longer than he should have, knows that what time he’s been given has been a gift. He’s glad, now, that he got to meet Tony, and Steve and Bruce – hell, even Fury. 

If he’s honest with himself, Clint knows he’s been trying to keep Fury at a distance. He’s pissed at him for keeping this whole Phil’s-a-vampire-thing away from him, but it’s more than that. Fury could be like a father to him, and Clint doesn’t want that. It hurts to much to imagine something he's wanted for so long.

Maybe he would have had the opportunity to get over his fear, if they’d had time. Fury’ll be pissed at him for this, Clint knows. He might even get demoted, or whatever happens to Watchers when they lose their charge. Maybe he’ll get early retirement, or maybe he’ll stay on as librarian at Sunnydale High. Sitwell would keep him on the payroll. He seems like an alright kind of guy.

Clint squares his shoulders and leaves for Tony’s house. He needs to pick up his back-up bow and a few other supplies. He squeezes his hand into a fist as he walks away from Phil’s apartment, the ring Phil gave him his first night in town heavy on his finger. 

It’ll be better this way, Clint thinks as he steps off the curb. He’s always hated goodbyes.

 

*

 

Tony flies into the library that night, his forehead streaked with sweat. “Where is he?” he demands.

Fury looks up from his tower of books, his single eye glaring. “Where is who? And don’t shout like that, Stark – there are still students in school after hours.”

Tony doesn’t give two flying fucks about the girls practicing cheerleading in the gymnasium down the hall. “Where’s Clint?” he demands, running his hands through his hair. He feels greasy and worried, two days of losing himself in machine code only to come out and find the world had changed. “JARVIS said he’d only been home for a few minutes before he left. He said he took his second favorite bow and a quiver of arrows, and he just left!”

Fury stands and looks concerned. “He left? Where did he go?”

“I don’t know!” Tony says, throwing his hands in the air. “I haven’t planted a tracker on him yet – a situation I intend to rectify immediately! JARVIS said he left in the direction of town, but that could mean anything.”

“He left?” 

Tony looks up to see Phil Coulson materialize from behind a bookshelf. From Fury’s irritated look, the Watcher also hadn’t known he was there.

“ _You_!” Tony snarls. He runs to Phil and grabs his suit jacket in two hands, shaking him. “What have you done with him?”

Phil eyes Tony calmly. It’s kind of driving Tony nuts. 

“I haven’t done anything to him,” he says. “Clint found me at my apartment and we talked.” Tony can see the moment he gets it, the instant he understands. He hears Phil curse under his breath and watches as he turns to Fury. “Maria paid me a visit – she had a copy of the Pergamum Codex. Clint overheard us talking about it.”

Fury stills. “She has a copy? What does it say?”

“ _Ho korias phanaytie toutay tay nuktee_ ,” Phil recites. “‘The Master shall rise and the Slayer shall die.’”

Tony releases Phil’s jacket in shock. He steps away. “What?”

Beside him, Fury goes pale. “There has to be some mistake,” he says.

Phil shakes his head. Tony wants to curse him for being heartless, but he can see the way Phil’s lips have tightened into a thin white line, the anger he’s obviously trying to conceal. “I wish there was, Nick,” he says. “But the Pergamum Codex… it’s never wrong.”

“And Clint knows this?” Tony demands. “He knows that this – this wacky, wonky, mystical prophecy thing and when did prophecies become real? I want someone to answer me this when we’re not in crisis mode – and he left _anyway_?!”

Phil looks pissed, but he nods. “He told me he would wait for me,” he says.

Tony looks at him. “And you _believed him_?! This is _Clint_ we’re talking about here. The man has a hero complex a mile wide!”

Fury glares at him. “He _is_ a hero, Stark. He’s the Slayer.”

“He’s also sixteen,” Tony shoots back. “And he isn’t alone anymore. He’s got me.”

“And me,” a voice from the doorway says. They all turn to look.

Steve is standing there, looking particularly small but fierce. He glares at them all. “Clint is my friend. I want to help him.” 

Behind Steve, Bruce walks into the library. “I do, too,” he says. “Clint saved my life when he didn’t have to – he tried to help me, even when I yelled at him. You all did. If there’s anything I can do, I want to try.”

Tony stares at them, at his two boys, and feels his heart swell with pride. “There,” he says, turning back to Fury. “Clint’s not alone – he’s got us. Tell us what we can do.”

“I can find the Master,” Phil says, stepping forward. “Clint knows the general direction but it’ll take him time to find the right path. I can lead us directly there and stop him or help him as the case may be.”

Fury thinks for a moment, and then nods. “Fine. Phil, you go after Clint. Stark, you go with him.” Tony feels surprised to be included, and Fury catches his eye. “Take that AI you’ve created and plot a map of the underground caverns at you go. Bring the first aid kit from the backroom. If you leave now, you might still be in time. We can at least hope.”

Tony nods and turns to Phil. He doesn’t trust him, but the vampire nods back. It looks like they’re in this together.

“Steve and Bruce,” Fury goes on, “you boys stay here and start researching healing spells. If worst comes to worst, we’re going to want all the help we can get. Steve, you’ve shown a real knack for this kind of stuff. I’m counting on you, here.”

Steve nods seriously. “What will you be doing?” he asks.

Fury squares his shoulders. “I’m going to go talk to Ms. Carter.”

 

*

 

It takes Clint longer than he would like to find the correct tunnel. He’d started in the mausoleum and had followed the electrical access towards the corridor where he and Steve had first found Bucky. From there he'd walked carefully to the chamber where Bucky had tried to kill them. 

Clint remembers the sounds and screams of the vampires that had come from up ahead, but he’d run with Steve before he could explore that way. He moves in that direction now.

He’s convinced the pathway is going to lead him directly to the Master’s lair and gets confused when the tunnel turns instead into a dead end. He has to backtrack several times before he finds the small side-tunnel he’d missed. He keeps his eyes peeled after that, but there are no helpful dead bodies or loud noises to lead him to where he needs to go. It takes time.

Finally, though, Clint emerges into a natural cavern of some sort. It’s empty – weirdly empty for a guy with such a long list of followers. Clint lifts his bow and looks around. There are stalactites and pools of water, and an eerie _drip-drip-dripping_ sound echoing in the enclosed, underground space. Clint eyes the formations warily.

There are hundreds of candles lit, the flickering light chasing shadows around the walls.

“Welcome,” a voice says. It echoes strangely in the cavernous space. 

“Thanks for having me,” Clint answers. He scans the shadows. “You know, you really oughtta talk to your contractor. Looks like you have some water damage.”

“Oh, good,” the Master says. He appears suddenly from behind a stalactite. Clint looks at him and fights a grimace. The Master looks _ugly_ , wrinkled and bat-like in a way Clint's never seen. “The feeble banter portion of the fight. Why don’t we just cut to the – ”

He’s cut off as Clint shoots an arrow from his bow. The Master catches the shaft at chest-level, right in front of his heart. He grins.

“Nice shot.”

 

*

 

Nick finds Ms. Carter in her classroom, even though school ended hours ago.

“You know,” Peggy says from her desk, papers and textbooks scattered around her. “That outfit looks just like the one you wore yesterday, only wrinklier. Have you been here all night?” 

She looks at her watch and frowns. “And day.” She shakes her head, a few wisps escaping from her tightly bound hair. “Where has the time gone?”

“Nowhere fast, unless we can stop it,” Nick replies. 

Peggy looks up, concerned. “You confirmed my sources? The cat that gave birth to snakes last week, and the rain of toads the other day?”

Nick nods. “I’ve confirmed everything you’ve told me, and I’ve learned a little more besides. Tell me, what do you know about Hellmouths?”

Peggy’s eyes go flat and her mouth tightens into a hard time. “If you’re here to mock me, I – ”

For once, Nick doesn’t try to hide his confusion. “Mock you?”

Peggy stands up from her desk and crosses her arms. She looks like a British schoolmarm, which Nick supposes she is. “Yes. I’ve been speaking with some people on-line, looking into the history of Sunnydale. I’ve come across some information that suggests that this town has been built upon a Hellmouth – a portal that is a literal mouth to hell. Someone even tried to open it once, though I can’t get information on who or when that might have been. I’ve narrowed it down to one of two earthquakes that shook the area in the nineteen forties and sixties.”

Her eyes narrow. “No one will listen to me. I keep getting laughed out of the chat-rooms.”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “Ms. Carter – do I look like a man who hangs out in chat-rooms?”

Unexpectedly, Peggy smiles. “Mr. Fury, I have very little idea what you _do_ do, but I suspect it has very little to do with the library. I’m not about to rule anything out.”

Nick rolls his single eye. “Yes, well, be that as it may, I _do_ know what’s going on, and I need your help.”

Peggy’s eyebrow rise. “Oh really?” she says. She perches one hip on her desk. “You’re coming to me for help now? This has got to be good.”

Nick glares at her. He hates the way she can make him feel uncomfortable – it’s disconcerting and attractive at the same time. “Time is a factor, Ms. Carter. The life of a student is in jeopardy.”

That gets her attention. She stands up. “What? Who?”

“Clint Barton.”

Peggy stares at him. “Clint Barton?” she repeats, obviously confused. “Why?”

Nick looks at her. This is the moment of truth, when he reveals how much he knows and learns how much she understands. He’s been aware that Peggy Carter has been doing research into the supernatural for some time now, but he’s avoided talking with her on the subject.

“He’s the Slayer.”

Peggy gapes at him. “ _Clint?_ ,” she asks, incredulous. “But he’s so… little.”

Despite himself, Nick snorts. “I wouldn’t let him hear you say that.”

She waves that off. “No, no of course not.” She stares into space for a moment. “The Slayer…” she trails off. Peggy shakes her head and looks back to Nick. Her gaze sharpens. “Does that means you’re his Watcher?”

Nick hesitates, then nods. Well, that sums up how much she’s deduced about the Council. “Yes, I am.”

“And he’s in trouble? Because the world is ending?”

“You were right in your hypothesis – Sunnydale is indeed built upon a Hellmouth. A Master vampire moved here several decades ago and tried to open the portal, but misjudged the amount of power and became stuck.”

“And the signs cropping up these past couple of days, the rain of toads,” Carter muses, obviously thinking out loud, “they point to tonight being the night that he decides to try again. I’m guessing there’s a prophecy or something that says he will succeed, which opens the Hellmouth, bringing the demons, and ending the world.”

Nick shrugs. “That about sums it up.”

Peggy bends down and tugs on her heels, which Nick can see she’s tucked beneath her desk. “Right then,” she says, straightening up. “How can I help?”


	4. Chapter 4

Clint notches another arrow to the string and pulls back. The Master has disappeared again, slipping noiselessly into the shadows of the cavern. Clint walks the length of it, careful where he puts his feet. The pools blend into the shadows and the rocks are slippery with dripping water.

The Master appears from behind him suddenly. Clint stiffens at the feeling of ancient eyes on his back.

“You aren’t going to kill me with that thing,” the Master says.

Clint takes a deep breath. “Don’t be so sure,” he says, and dives forward, away from the Master’s voice. He rolls, bow coming up as he completes his tumble, and hangs for a split-second upside down. He shoots.

Clint’s aim is perfect – an absolute kill shot at very close range – but the Master plucks the arrow from the air again. Clint completes his tumble and rolls to his feet, spinning back to face the Master.

“You still don’t understand your part in all this, do you?” he says, looking like a bat and smelling ten times worse, but moving with a terrible kind of grace. “You are not the hunter. You are the lamb.”

Clint notches another arrow, but between one blink and the next the Master has disappeared again. Clint startles and looks around, but all he can see are stalactites and pools of tepid water.

“For someone who’s supposed to be all powerful, you sure do like to hide.”

“I’m waiting for you,” the Master says. His voice bounces around the chamber, impossible to pin down. “I want this moment to last.”

“Well I don’t,” Clint says. He’s frightened, despite his brave words. His pulse is beating wildly in his throat, a distracting flutter. He is very aware of his own heartbeat, of how many heartbeats he might have left. 

There is no sound, but the Master is directly in front of him again.

“I understand,” the vampire says. 

Clint tries to shoot, but the Master's too fast. He catches the bow in his open hands and crushes it like so much firewood. It splinters in Clint’s grip and he lets it go, the second bow he’s lost in little over a week, and reaches for the knife he keeps at the small of his back.

Clint’s hand closes around the knife and darts towards the Master’s heart. As fast as Slayer strength makes him, though, he might as well be moving in slow motion. The vampire doesn’t even try to evade, just reaches out his arm and grabs Clint’s neck with his hands. His fingers are cool and rough, the nails thick and sharpened to a point. Clint drops the knife in surprise. He can feel the powerful hands clench around his windpipe, cutting off his air.

He fights the strange lethargy that seems to fill him. Black spots are dancing in front of his eyes. He’s been caught in a choke-hold before. Clint brings his arms up and snaps them down, trying to break the Master’s hold. It works, and the powerful grip relaxes. Clint twists away from the vampire and starts to run, his heart hammering in his throat, his breath coming fast with fear.

A powerful force grips him, nothing physical, nothing he can fight. It feels like a tractor beam, pulling him in. Clint knows that it’s coming from the Master – that it’s some kind of compulsion the vampire is creating – but he can’t seem to fight it.

He thinks of Tony and he thinks of Phil. He remembers Trickshot and Barney, Annie the Bearded Lady and Jack the Sword Swallower, and finally, lastly, his father. Angry and drunk, but still family. He tires to put those memories between himself and the power of the Master, but it isn’t enough. The lethargy still grips him. He can feel his will fading.

Maybe it’s because he came into this fight knowing he would die, or maybe it’s because the Master is just that strong. Whatever it is, it’s too much for Clint. He collapses, and the Master drags him backwards against the uneven ground.

“You tried,” the Master croons. “It was noble of you. You heard the prophecy that I was about to break free and you came to stop me. But prophecies are tricky creatures. They don't tell you everything.” Clint can feel the coolness of his lips ghosting against the back of his neck. 

The Master’s voice drops to a whisper. “You're the one that sets me free,” he says right against Clint’s ear. “If you hadn't come, I couldn't go. Think about that!”

Clint wants to cry. He wants to fight, to be free, to live to see another day. He wants to see Phil just one last time.

But another part of him, a dark, deeper part, the power that is the Slayer, whispers to him that this is a good death. He went out fighting. He went out doing what he was meant to do. That is all they can hope for, in the end, they who fight the endless war.

The bite, when it comes, hurts more and less than it should. Clint can feel the fangs pierce his skin, sliding through his throat as easily as a hot knife through butter. He can feel the blood being drained from his body, gives a reflexive jerk as the Master sucks. The pain is bright and sharp, but it’s also far away. It doesn’t touch Clint’s soul.

It’s the other, deeper pain that hurts him. The loss of power and control. The Master isn’t just taking Clint’s blood, he’s taking Clint’s _life_. He’s taking the very Slayer power that Clint has been given to protect people and he’s using that power to feed his own damaged core. Clint can feel the Master growing stronger even as he grows weaker, and he knows, even as the Master breaks away, that it isn’t the blood loss that will kill him.

It’s the loss of himself. The surrender of that control.

The Master pushes him, and Clint falls. He can see the pool of water rushing up to meet him, but he can’t stop himself. He’s caught in a frozen loop, trapped in that moment when the Master’s control first stopped his limbs and bouncing between fear and the pierce of sharp fangs. It plays like a track inside his head, endless and repeating, even as the black water surrounds him.

“Oh, God!” Clint can hear the Master cry, as if from far away. “The power!”

_It’s yours now_ , Clint thinks bitterly, and then the black water rushes into his lungs, and he dies.

 

*

 

Steve has his nose buried in a book when Fury comes back to the library with Ms. Carter. He hasn’t told anyone yet, but the magic words on the page sing to him the way nothing ever has before. Steve can feel the power in the book, even reading the words silently in his head like he’s been doing. He doesn’t want to risk saying anything out loud until he’s sure what this spell can do.

The power scares him more than it thrills him. He’s never felt anything like it before – standing with Fury, chanting the words that conjured the circle and stopped the Abomination, the creature that has been Bruce’s father – he can’t even begin to describe the sensation.

Abruptly, for the hundredth time that day, Steve misses Bucky. Bucky would have listened and tried to understand. Steve could have sketched for him, tried to show him the power in pictures if he couldn’t with words. 

Bucky had been the only who knew that Steve liked to sketch, though he thinks Tony suspects. Bucky had never laughed at Steve, or said his drawings were stupid or that he could do better. For that, and for everything else, Steve had loved him.

Loved him and lost him; seen him turned into a demon right before his eyes.

Steve can still remember the hard, visceral punch of it, watching Bucky’s face warping into that of a monster. He hadn’t been able to think of Bucky gone, only changed, and now with the news that Phil is a vampire – a vampire who helps people – Steve knows he has a purpose in life. He has to save Bucky, the way Phil was saved. He has to bring Bucky back to the light.

Bucky saved Steve’s life so many times over the years; he has to try.

But for now he has to concentrate on helping Clint. Bucky is a separate issue, another problem, one he intends to research on his own time. He needs to talk to Phil and find out what happened to him, what caused him to change, but now is about Clint. Steve doesn’t want to lose another friend. 

By the time Fury comes back, Steve has located several healing spells he thinks will work. Healing spells are tricky, but Steve thinks he could stabilize Clint, at least. Bruce has meandered into tracking spells, but Steve knows they won’t need those. Phil and Tony will find Clint. They'll just need to deal with any injuries they discover when they do. 

“The Master is as old as any vampire on record,” Fury is saying as he and Ms. Carter walk through the library door. “There’s no telling how powerful he’ll be if he reaches the surface.”

Ms. Carter looks confused. Steve doesn’t know why she’s here, or what she knows about vampires and prophecies, but he respects her opinion. “Okay, but here’s my question,” Ms. Carter says. “The Hellmouth opens?”

Fury looks at her. “Yes.”

“Well, where? If it’s underground, and it's right where this Master is, where is it going to open?”

Steve can see the wheels turning in Fury’s head. “Good point,” the Watcher says. “Here – you have a look through the Black Chronicles, and Steve…” he looks towards the desk where Steve and Bruce are sitting. “How are the healing spell searches going?”

“I’ve found at least three we’ll be able to use no matter what state Clint’s in. What do you need me to do?”

“Look through the local histories. Check for any common denominators, locations of incidents and such.”

Ms. Carter holds up a hand. “I’m the history teacher here, Mr. Fury, I think I can handle the internet. Steve?” She asks, looking towards him. “Can I give you the Black Chronicles?”

Steve nods. “Please,” he says. He’d much rather be looking through magic books than local papers.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, pages rustling. Ms. Carter has set up her laptop and is typing away. Finally she looks up from her searches. “Nothing.”

Fury sighs. Bruce slips his glasses off and massages his eyes. Steve sends him a tight smile.

“Okay, let’s think this through,” Fury says. “The vampires have been gathering. They know the Master is coming. They will be his army.”

Ms. Carter frowns. “Do you think they’ll gather at the Hellmouth?”

Steve shakes his head. “The last time the Master tried to rise was the Harvest,” he says, as if he could ever forget that night. “He sent a bunch of vampires to get him fresh blood.”

Ms. Carter stares at him, then looks to Fury. “I want to discuss with you what he means by _the last time_ and have a very serious conversation about endangering the lives of students, but first I’ll ask – where did that happen?”

Fury’s mouth tightens. “The Bronx.”

Bruce sits up in his chair. “There’s a party tonight – Tony was telling me about it earlier. Tons of people will be there!”

Steve stands up. “We have to warn them!”

Fury starts to gather supplies, but Ms. Carter stops him. “Wait. _You_ have to figure out a way to close the Hellmouth. If the Master really does get it open, we need to make sure we can close it again. Steve and I will go to The Bronx and warn people. Maybe we can trigger the fire alarm, or something.”

Bruce slips his glasses back on his face. “I’m coming with you,” he says.

Ms. Carter shoots him a sympathetic glance. “I’m sure you want to help, Bruce, but – ”

Fury cuts her off. “Take him with you. Bruce has… other attributes.”

Ms. Carter looks confused, but Bruce only nods. He stands up from the table. “Where’s your car?”

 

*

 

Tony and Phil race through the tunnels that lie under the city. Tony can hear water dripping all around him. He focuses on breathing, aware that he’s slowing Phil down. Tony’s carrying the medical equipment, though, and more importantly he knows how to use it. Tony doesn’t think Phil’s spent the last several years keeping up to date on the latest in medical resuscitation technology.

Tony has, but that’s a story for another day. He usually just says it’s good to be prepared.

Finally, they find the Master’s lair. There’s no mistaking it – the place is a cavern and filled with candles. There are pools of water all around, some surprisingly deep. Tony splashes his way across the room, following Phil.

It looks empty, and Tony has a moment to hope they’re not too late, but then Phil shouts. “He’s here!”

Tony rushes forward. Phil is pulling Clint out of a pool of water – his face and clothes are soaked, and he’s obviously not breathing. Tony instantly takes over, rolling Clint onto his side and grabbing him in a Heimlich-maneuver, digging his hands into Clint’s stomach and forcing him to regurgitate the water he’s obviously inhaled.

Brackish water dribbles from Clint’s mouth. Tony waits as long as he can – it feels too long – for the water to slow before flipping Clint onto his back. He rips open the black bag he’s so thankful he’s dragged all this way, and takes out the portable defibrillator unit.

His hands are shaking as he strips the plastic backing from the sticky pads. “Get rid of his shirt,” he says to Phil, amazed that his voice is steady. 

Phil doesn’t bother removing the shirt – he just flexes a hand and rips the fabric apart with his fingers. Tony doesn’t spare him more than a glance, but it’s enough to see that Phil is terrified. Tony wonders with some distant part of his brain how many humans can say they’ve seen a vampire scared.

He sticks the pads on Clint’s chest, attaches the cables, and arms the defibrillator. His fingers clench as he waits for the ready signal to light.

There’s a _beep_ from the machine and it flashes red, saying the pads have been applied incorrectly. Tony snarls and removes them, wiping Clint’s chest with his shirt to remove the last of the water clinging to Clint’s skin, and then replaces the pads. This time the defibrillator light goes green.

Tony presses the button. Clint jerks, but nothing happens. The defibrillator records his heart reading, extremely bradycardic, and readies a charge. The light flashes green.

Tony presses it again. This time Clint jerks and then starts to cough, more water coming up out of his mouth and nose. He flails and sucks in air, his eyes wild, and Tony wants to laugh and cry at the same time, his knees giving out from under him, even though he’s already crouching on the ground.

He falls backwards onto his ass. His cheeks are wet with more than just sweat. Phil is shaking, his hands vibrating with terror and relief. He gathers Clint into his arms and just holds him, murmuring promises Tony can’t hear into his skin.

 

*

 

Steve and Bruce follow Ms. Carter out to her car. It’s at the end of the teacher’s parking lot, and the three of them hurry.

“What are we going to do if they get to The Bronx before we do?”

Bruce awkwardly clears his throat. “Uh – I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” he says apologetically.

Ms. Carter looks up at him, her keys in her hand. “What? Why not?”

Bruce points, and Steve and Ms. Carter follow his gaze. Across the school yard, a horde of vampires is running steadily towards them. “Because they aren’t going to The Bronx.”

Ms. Carter yelps and turns back to the school. Steve sees other vampires approaching, leaping at them from the darkness. Within moments, they’ve completely cut off the three humans from the main doors. 

Steve doesn’t know what to do. Before he can decide, Ms. Carter moves. She hitches up her skirt and leaps over the car, skidding across the hood and landing hard on the other side. She lands on her feet, which is impressive considering Steve knows she’s wearing heels, and leaps into the driver’s seat.

“Get in!” she shouts.

Steve pulls the passenger door open and dives inside. He waits for Bruce to follow him, but the other boy just gives him a faint, ironic grin.

“Don’t worry about me,” Bruce says. “Get to the library and lock yourselves in.”

“What?” Ms. Carter asks. “What is he going to –?”

Steve knows what Bruce has planned. It thrills and terrifies him at the same time. “Just go!”

Ms. Carter guns the car. It leaps forward, pushing vampires out of the way. Behind them the vampires pounce on Bruce, but their target is already transforming. Steve twists in his seat to see Bruce change, his normally light skin darkening. Even in the dim florescent lighting of the teacher’s parking lot, Steve can see the green taking over, flaring in Bruce’s eyes.

He roars, and the sound changes even as he does – going from high pitched to a deep growl as Bruce arcs his back and _grows_. In an instant, he’s four times as large as he was, a giant Hulk of green skin, bulging muscles, and a surprisingly human face.

“What the bloody hell –” Ms. Carter says. She’s staring at the rearview mirror.

“He’ll be fine,” Steve assures her. He hopes it’s true. “Go go go!”

Ms. Carter clenches her jaw and drives. She barrels through vampires as if they are bowling pins, knocking them away from the car. There’s no time to stop and politely run for the school, so Ms. Carter rams the car through the double doors. They lurch to a stop in an empty hallway, smoke billowing out from under the hood. 

“Get to the library!” Ms. Carter shouts. Steve stumbles out of the car and tries to run. He curses his weak body as his legs wobble underneath him. Before he can fall, Ms. Carter is at his side – she pulls him up and then drags him down the corridor. Steve does his best to keep pace.

Fury looks up as they burst back into the library. “What happened?” 

“Guess!” Ms. Carter shouts. She pulls a bookcase over to the door. Steve runs for the magic books, rapidly looking through spells.

There’s a crash from one of the few, high windows. They all look over to see a vampire’s arm come thrusting through, grasping wildly. Fury grabs a bottle of holy water and throws it across the room at the window. It breaks, and the vampire outside screams. 

“Where’s Banner?” Fury asks; as if in answer, a roar echoes from outside. Ms. Carter pales.

“Nevermind,” Fury says. He looks around. “Here’s a better question – why are the vampires coming _here_?”

 

*

 

Clint coughs and coughs, darkness hovering at the edge of his vision. He sucks in gasping lungfuls of air.

“You’re okay,” Phil is muttering, running his hands compulsively over Clint’s bared chest and back. “You’re okay.”

Tony is laughing to himself, tears leaking down his face. He’s got a portable defibrillator unit in his hands and Clint can see his hands are shaking.

Clint’s shaking too, and so is Phil. Clint swallows and reaches over, clasping Tony’s hand. Tony abruptly stops laughing and stares at him, and Clint tugs him forward. Tony collapses onto Clint’s chest, and Clint leans forward into Phil. They lay there for a moment in a strange group hug, before Tony hiccups. “I thought you were dead.” 

Clint has to swallow, because he can still see the darkness hovering at the edges of his vision, waiting for him. “I think I was,” he says, and grips Tony’s hand. “You saved me.”

Underneath him, Phil shakes. Clint reaches his other hand around and squeezes Phil’s arm. “You both saved me.”

They sit there for a moment before Clint moves. He stands up, and Tony and Phil scramble to follow. 

“Easy, easy,” Tony says. Phil keeps a hand on Clint’s back.

“Where’s the Master?” Clint asks. He can feel something stir in the back of his mind at the name.

“He’s gone up to the surface,” Phil answers. 

Clint starts out of the cavern. 

“Wait!” Tony says. “You should wait, catch your breath. You’re still weak.”

Clint shakes his head. He can’t explain it, but he doesn’t feel weak at all. He feels strange, but powerful. The darkness is still there, in the corners, but it’s whispering to him now. It doesn’t try to claw him back.

“No,” Clint says. “I feel good. I feel strong. Let’s go!”

He sets off, and Tony and Phil do their best to keep up. “Do you know where the Master is?” Tony asks. He checks his map for directions, but Clint doesn’t need any help. 

“I know,” Clint says. He does. He can feel the Master in his mind – the ecstatic glee of finally being free, the delicious sensation of the cool night air. He can see from the Master’s eyes and he knows where the Master is. Clint understands what it is he wants to do.

Clint leads them out of the caverns. They hurry through the dark streets and then back to Sunnydale High. It doesn’t take long for Tony and Phil to realize that the building is completely surrounded by vampires. An echoing roar says that Bruce is here somewhere, transformed into the Hulk.

The vampires attack their group as they draw near and a fledging jumps in front of Clint’s face. “Oh, look,” Clint says, feeling effortlessly powerful, “a bad guy.” He punches it in the chest.

The vampire goes flying. Behind him, Clint can feel Tony and Phil share a look. He doesn’t bother saying anything – all his energy is directed towards the Master now.

They fight their way through the vampire hoard. Tony and Phil stake where they can, but Clint doesn’t bother. The vampires are moving in slow motion – their hits are telegraphed, their punches weak. Clint moves through them like water, flowing past their struggling limbs, kicking them away when they surge too close. 

He doesn’t have time for these flunkies. He has only one target in mind tonight.

Once inside, Clint pauses by the stairs to the roof. “You two wait here. Keep the vampires off me. Phil, better put your game face on.”

Beside him, Phil vamps out. It’s disconcerting to see, but it doesn’t bother Clint, not now. He knows the monster is Phil, and Phil is the monster. 

“Ready,” Phil says.

Clint nods. “One way or another,” he tells them, “this won’t take long.”

He holds their eyes, and they both nod back. Clint turns, and heads for the roof.

 

*

 

In the library, the doors are giving way.

“They’re coming through the stacks!” Ms. Carter yells.

“ _Locus contego!_ ” Steve shouts. A magical blue pulse flares, and the door is suddenly surrounded by a shield.

“Steve!” Ms. Carter says, shocked. “That’s incredible!”

“Hold it just like that, Rogers!” Fury yells. He runs from where he’s been bracing the shelves and starts loading the shotgun he keeps tucked away in the weapons cabinet. 

The shield is like a weight on Steve’s shoulders – not just in his mind, but physically, too. He can feel himself trembling. “I’m trying…” he gasps.

He can feel the magic start to fail. Fury cocks the shotgun and gives him a nod. “Now!”

Steve sighs and releases the spell. Abruptly, the blue shimmer vanishes. The vampires crash through the hastily assembled barricade. 

Fury shoots two in the face. The vampire’s heads explode, raining flesh for a second before bursting into ash. The blood becomes a fine mist of carbon around them. Steve tries not to breathe it in.

For a moment, the attacks subside. Steve has a second to catch his breath, and then the floor buckles alarmingly beneath him. Horrified, they all look down. 

Cracks appear in the floor, spreading like spider webs before bursting open. A tentacle rises out, and then another. The floor shudders and gives way. Steve backs into a corner and stares in open-mouthed horror as a monster lurches up from the floor. 

It’s _huge_. It has three heads and reaches almost to the roof. The tentacles wave, grasping for any object they can find. The roof crumbles and begins to fall, a hole opening in the ceiling. Bookshelves tumble into the abyss suddenly gaping at their feet.

“The Guardian of the Hellmouth!” Fury shouts over the din.

“Yes!” cries a voice. Steve looks up. He can see a vampire on the roof, older and more bat-like than any vampire he has ever seen, standing at the edge of new hole in the library ceiling. “Come forth, my child! Come into my world!”

Steve feels fear, deep and visceral, like a punch to the gut. He’s going to die here, he suddenly knows. He’s going to die in the library, on the first day at the end of the world, and he’s never going to see Bucky again.

In that moment – that feeling of absolute fear – Steve has an epiphany. He knows, with absolute certainty, what he needs to do to save Bucky. He just doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to pull it off.

And, Steve thinks as the monster roars, if he’s going to be alive to do it.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint reaches the roof just as the building shifts and shudders. He can feel the break in more than just the floor – there’s a hole in the world now, where the Hellmouth is cracking open.

“Yes!” a voice on the roof cries. Clint can see the Master, standing over the library near the edge of the hole. “Come forth, my child! Come into my world!”

“I don’t think it’s yours just yet.”

The Master turns in surprise and stares at Clint. “You’re dead!”

Clint grins. “I may be dead, but I’m still pretty. Which is more than I can say for you.”

The Master snarls. “You were destined to die. It was written!”

“What can I say?” Clint shrugs. “I flunked the written.”

The Master growls and whips out his arm. He reaches for his power, and uses it to draw Clint towards him again. “Come here,” he growls.

Clint stumbles forward. The Master grins in anticipation. He grabs Clint’s throat as soon as he’s near. “Did you really think you could best me here, when you couldn’t below?” He lets go of Clint’s neck, confident in his power.

Clint wrinkles his nose. “You smell like old people,” he says.

The Master looks startled. “What?”

Clint swings a punch – hard – and the Master goes down. 

“Save the hypnosis crap for the tourists.”

 

*

 

In the library, the monster is roaring. Steve glances away from it back to the roof and sees a second figure appear. It’s Clint! He cheers, and Fury and Ms. Carter look up in time to see Clint strike the Master in the face. 

“Get him, Clint!” Ms. Carter shouts.

Fury seems buoyed with new strength. He levels the shotgun at the Guardian and fires a blast. The monster roars and recoils. It lashes out with a tentacle, seizing Fury by the leg and throwing him across the room. The Watcher pinwheels through the air and lands with a crash, smashes into the library table. It breaks with the impact and tips over onto its side. A huge spike is left pointing at the sky.

Steve runs towards the Watcher as Fury lurches to his feet. Steve sees Fury brace the shotgun on one forearm and he hurries to protect his ears as the blast goes off. The monster screams again, a horrible pained sound, and starts to retreat.

 

*

 

Tony bounces on his toes as he sees Clint disappear onto the roof. He doesn’t have long to wait before the high school doors burst open and the horde of vampires attacks. Tony fights them off as best he can. He takes his mother’s cross from around his neck and carries it in his hand. He whips it towards the snarling vampires, scalding them where the cross touches undead skin. He punches and kicks, trying desperately to protect his throat.

Beside him, Phil is a calm whirlwind. He moves with supernatural grace, catching vampires and flinging them backwards, dodging their blows and delivering stunning punches of his own. He has a wooden stake in one hand and lays waste with devastating speed. Around them, vampires explode so quickly, the air is a thick mist of ash.

 

*

 

On the roof, Clint is fighting. The Master is good – he’s had a millennium of practice – but Clint is the Slayer. He can feel the power under his skin and more than that, he can feel the Master in his mind. He knows before the vampire moves which way he will dodge, and he’s already there, waiting for him.

The Master counters Clint’s advantage by moving on instinct, fighting without thought. He throws away centuries of training and gives in to his demon nature. He snarls and rushes, leaps and attacks. Clint is forced to react instead of predict, and he’s pushed to the edge of the library hole.

Finally, the Master gains the upper hand. He snaps his arm forward and catches Clint’s throat in his taloned claws.

“Where are your jibes now?” he taunts.

Clint glances down through the hole in the library roof to the broken table and the spike waiting below. He knows what to do, his own instincts take over. He laughs.

The Master looks confused. “You laugh when my Hell is on Earth?”

Clint gives him a dry grin. “If you’re that amped up about Hell,” he says, throwing his weight forward and breaking the Master’s grip. He grabs the vampire by his bony shoulders and flips him over his head. “You should go there!”

The Master screams as he’s thrown over Clint’s shoulder. He falls through the open hole in the library roof, plunging down through the open air and landing on the spike left from the broken table. With an audible _crunch_ , the Master is impaled. 

Clint watches from the roof as the Master screams. Dust gathers at the edges of his clothes. He’s so powerful, for a moment Clint thinks he will hold off this final, killing blow. But no – his heart has been pierced with wood, and no amount of power can save him now. With a scream, the Master is consumed. Ash broils along his body, dissolving flesh and fabric alike. When the screaming finally ends, only his bones are left hanging from the spike.

In the library, there is a moment of shocked silence. Fury is the first to turn from the bones, pointing his shotgun at the Guardian again. The monster recoils and begins to fall back toward the floor. It will surround the Hellmouth, Fury knows, protecting it against those who would seek to unleash its power.

Outside, an echo roars. Clint looks over the edge of the roof to see Bruce – that is, the Hulk – chasing a hoard of vampires across the yard. As Clint watches, he catches one. With a savage twist, the Hulk rips the vampire’s head from its body. The startled vamp disappears into ash, and the Hulk looks confused at the loss of its prey. It roars again, and the vampires run.

 

*

 

By the stairs, Tony pauses to catch his breath. Even from here, he could hear the screaming as the Master died. The vampires around them had heard it too, and they’d run. Tony’s hands shake with relief as he replaces his mother’s cross around his neck. 

“That was close,” he says.

Beside him, Phil nods. He’s not breathing heavily, but then – hey, undead! He looks tired, though. “It was,” he agrees.

There’s a sound from above them, and Tony looks up. Clint reappears at the top of the stairs. He looks spaced out, his eyes staring slightly. Phil hesitates, but Tony never does. He rushes Clint and tackles him in a giant hug. 

“Clint! Are you alright?!”

Clint gives him a low chuckle. It seems to be all he can say in response. Phil frowns, but Tony doesn’t care. He wraps Clint in a hug, and then starts to pull him towards the library. 

“Come on, let’s go find the others.”

Fury, Steve and Ms. Carter are in the library as they stumble in. A moment later, Bruce wanders through the broken doors. He’s back to his regular size, and looking more than a little sheepish in his ripped and ruined clothes.

“Sorry,” he says. “Did I miss the party?”

Everyone chuckles. They stare at each other for a moment in wonder – is possible they’ve all survived?

Ms. Carter is the first to speak. She looks at Fury. “The vampires?”

“Gone,” Fury says, sounding relieved. 

Phil clears his throat. “The Master?” 

“Dead,” Steve replies. He gestures to the skeleton adorning the broken library table. Tony can see the giant wooden spike that has been driven through the skeleton’s heart. 

“The Hellmouth?” Tony wonders.

“Closed,” Ms. Carter replies. “And the Guardian’s gone with it.”

“Clint?” Fury asks. They all turn to look at their Slayer.

“Huh?” Clint says blankly. He gives his head a shake. “Sorry. It’s been a really weird day.”

“Yeah!” Tony agrees. “Clint died and everything!”

Fury takes a sharp breath in. “You died?”

Clint manages a smile. “Didn’t take, thanks to Tony and Phil.”

Phil shakes his head, but he’s smiling now. “It was all Tony – he brought Clint back.”

Bruce and Steve look impressed. Tony puffs out his chest. “I wield a mean defibrillator.”

Ms. Carter looks concerned, but Clint’s obvious okay. “Well,” she says, instead of rushing him off to the hospital as was obviously her first thought. “What do we do now?”

Fury looks around the ruined library. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” he says finally, “but I’d like to get out of this place.” He shakes his head. “Sitwell is going to be a pain in the ass about this.”

“You did ruin his library,” Bruce agrees with a smile.

“Technically, the Hellmouth ruined his library,” Steve argues. “He should file a complaint with the city planning committee.”

“Well, I,” Tony says with a clap of his hands, “heard there’s a party at The Bronx tonight. We should totally crash it.”

Steve grins. “Yeah!”

Phil looks towards their Slayer. “Clint?”

Clint turns to him with a slow smile. “Sure,” he says. “Why not? We saved the world, I say we party.”

Ms. Carter jerks her chin towards the skeletal remains. “What about him?”

Clint stares at the bones for a moment, then shakes his head. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Tony grins and turns towards the remains of the door. “First round’s on me!”

Steve laughs. “First round’s always on you, Tony.”

Tony grins. “Yeah, well, this time I’m buying doubles. Doubles of soda, that is. Think Ms. Carter will get real beer for me?”

Ms. Carter huffs. “Not on your life, Stark.”

Fury frowns. “I’m not dancing.”

“Aww, come on,” Ms. Carter teases. “It could be fun.”

Bruce turns to Phil with a smile. “You can come with us, Phil. I’m Bruce, by the way.”

Phil hesitates, but offers his hand. Bruce doesn’t finch at the touch. “I’m Phil.” He pauses. “I agree with Nick, though – no dancing.”

Tony looks to Clint, who makes a funny face. “I’m hungry,” the Slayer says.

Steve is talking to Fury. “Just get something to drink, then, but don’t give any to Tony.”

“Is anyone else hungry?” Clint asks.

Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re always hungry.”

Clint nods. “I’m really, really hungry,” he says. 

“Chicken wings,” Tony promises. “All the chicken wings you can eat.”

“By the way,” he hears Phil say to Clint, as they exit the school. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

“Yeah,” Clint says. Tony glances behind them, to the skeleton of the Master left hanging where it lay. 

Clint doesn’t. 

“Me, too.”

 

 

Epilogue

 

“RUN!” 

Natasha Romanov runs.

She knows without looking that Viktor is behind her. She can hear her handler running, his heavy-soled boots loud on the concrete tile of the Compound. A vampire crashes through the window in front of her – Natasha throws her stake, dusts him, and catches her weapon as it falls from the pile of ash. Two more vampires follow, but Natasha has already run past.

She hears Viktor dealing with them behind her. That is his job – to keep her safe. It’s not Natasha herself that's important; it's what she _is_.

Viktor deals with the vamps – she can hear them exploding behind her because she's been trained to understand such sounds. Abruptly, Natasha takes a right. The vampire that is waiting for her in the left-handed corridor rushes forward, but Natasha sees him coming. She runs up the wall, flips backwards off of it, and then ducks to avoid the vampire's strike. He rushes past her and she dusts him, then spins to catch the other vamp crashing through the wall to her right. 

He snaps a punch at her face. She ducks and stabs him in the thigh with her stake. It won't kill him, but the pain will distract him long enough.

The vampires snarls and darts forward, but his injured leg buckles. Natasha rips out her stake and plunges it into his heart.

Through the resulting dust cloud, she can see another three vampires running in to attack.

Natasha wants to curse, but she's too tired. The assault has been unending for hours now – she’d been alerted just after sundown by the proximity alarms. Around her, the other Potentials had started. They each carried stakes and assault weapons on their persons, even to bed, and within seconds each one of them was armed to the teeth. There had been readiness, but no panic. The handlers sometimes like to stage night-time drills.

This had been no drill. The attack was real, and it was devastating. Natasha can’t avoid the truth of it – human blood paints the previously pristine walls, heaps of dust gather in the usually immaculate hallways. The lights are now busted and broken, the windows shattered. 

What she can't see – what she hasn't seen for over an hour now – is anyone left alive besides her and Viktor.

Natasha pushes that thought to the back of her mind, as she's been trained to do. The Red Room specializes in identifying and training Potentials. They are removed from their homes throughout the old Soviet Union and brought to live at the Compound. They are trained as demon-fighting machines – harnessed not because one of them may become the Slayer, but because they possess that fighting edge that identifies them as Potentials.

There have actually been very few Slayers called from Mother Russia. Natasha has been told this is because Potentials are usually activated because of the presence of vampires, not just demons. Russia has been protected for hundreds of years not only by their climate, which discourages cold-blooded demons, but because the Red Room has been active for that long. Initially created as an off-shoot of the Watchers Council, the Red Room has far surpassed that limited organization. Let the Council worry about the single Slayer alive in the world – the Red Room had access to every Potential found during the course of their crusade.

Natasha has lived here since the age of seven. She killed her first vampire when she was nine, and began training other Potentials when she was ten. She doesn't remember her life before the Red Room. She is a weapon, one that is well trained. She will fight until she dies in combat, or retires from the field to teach for the rest of her life at the Compound. She knows no other way to live.

Only now the Compound is in ruins. The vampires have attacked in numbers unseen since the Revolution. The Red Room and its operatives fought well, but in the end, they were only human. One by one, they died.

The evidence is all around her.

Only Natasha and Viktor are left. Viktor is her favorite handler. He was kind, sometimes, to her. She remembers that.

He is old now. The oldest operative still allowed in the field, almost sixty-five. He is long past the Age of Possibility – when a Potential reaches twenty or twenty-five, they lose the extra shimmering edge of ability, the pale shadow of the Slayer power that hovered around them since the age of eight. 

What they lose in pure ability, however, they more than make up for with experience. Not many Potentials reach twenty-five, and those that do have fought the demons for fifteen years or more. Viktor has been in more battles that Natasha can imagine.

But he is still human, and growing tired. They have been fighting without pause since the alarm rang, and the situation is only growing worse. The vampires outnumbered them from the start, but now, with all the other operatives gone, every vampire is after them.

She's the last Potential left throughout Soviet territory. No one has been missed. The Red Room is very, very good at what they do.

Natasha knows what these vampires want – they want to destroy the Line of Succession. They think that if they kill every Potential, the power of the Slayer will simply cease to be.

Natasha doesn't believe that. She has very little faith in anything, but she does believe in the Slayer. The power is a force beyond what humans can control – it will find a successor, Natasha believes, even if there is only one human left on earth to accept it.

That will not be her, Natasha knows. She’s tired. Several of her ribs are broken, there are numerous cuts and abrasions on her arms, and her legs are shaking. She can fight, she _will_ fight until the end, but the end is growing closer, now.

Viktor takes out the three approaching vampires with his last grenade. The explosion detaches their heads from their bodies, and they explode. Natasha has a second to catch her breath, before two more vampires appear out of the shadows, and they have to run again.

The vampires attack before they get very far. Natasha and Viktor are halfway down the next corridor when the vampires snarl and leap. They have been trying to make it to the courtyard, knowing dawn must come soon, but the vampires cut them off. Their supernatural strength covers the distance between them and the humans in a single bound. It is enough time for Natasha to ready herself in a fighting stance before they land.

Viktor takes the vampire on the left, while she takes the one on the right. They dodge and thrust in the ancient dance, human versus vampire, predator versus prey. Natasha is scored along her left side by a talon that draws blood, but she is able to pierce the vampire’s heart with her stake, and it explodes. 

She turns to Viktor just as he thrusts his finale strike – his vampire dissolves, but Viktor grunts in pain. Natasha catches him. The vampire has stabbed him in the abdomen with something blunt – most likely its hand. Viktor is holding his intestines to keep them from falling on the floor.

Natasha doesn't say anything. There is nothing left to say. 

She gives Viktor the last of her grenades, and she lets him go. He lowers himself to the ground and gives her one last, shaky smile, before he turns to meet the coming threat. Already there are more vampires running towards them, at least five that Natasha can see.

She knows Viktor will wait until the last possible moment before pulling the grenade. She allows herself one touch to his shoulder before she turns and runs away.

Two more vampires attack her. Natasha, filled with new purpose, dusts them both. She keeps running for the outer door, but doesn't quite make it before the explosion echoes behind her.

She stumbles, but doesn't fall. Natasha catches herself on the wall and forces herself to breathe. She is almost safe. Dawn will be coming soon. If she can make it till then, she will have eleven hours to find shelter for the night.

Natasha wrenches open the door – the locks have already been disabled – and stumbles out into the courtyard. The sight that greets her almost makes her cry. The sun is licking at the horizon, the first tentative shafts of light illuminating the hills. But waiting for her, eager with anticipation, are twenty-seven vampires baying for her blood.

If she had five minutes, she might live. It very clear that she does not.

She is Natasha Romanov, though, sometimes called Natasha Romanova, and she is the last living Potential trained by the Red Room. She straights her back, ignores her wounds, and readies her stake.

The vampires charge. 

Natasha dusts two as soon as they come into range. She ducks and steps through their dust clouds, moving low. Three more vampires attack her. She stabs one through the knee, kicks it in the calf, and then stakes it through the heart when it falls with a scream. She stays down, sweeping her leg out in a calculated swipe, and downs a second vampire to her right. She can't quite make it the distance needed to stake it, however, because the another vampire catches her from behind.

Natasha whips her head backwards, feeling the crunch of bone. If her attacker were human or a _Bruali_ demon, the move would have disabled them, but the vampire merely snarls and shrugs it off. Natasha drops to one knee, throwing her weight forward, and then flexes her thighs and _flips_ over the vampire's arm. She stakes it before it can recover, but another vampire moves in

It's no use, Natasha knows. This is the end. 

They rush her. She lashes out, but the vampires have her now. They grab her by the arms and legs, too many to fight off, and immobilize her. They snarl for a moment over the Right of First Drink, and Natasha closes her eyes. She can feel the fangs descending. Soon, everything will end.

The surge of power takes her by surprise. It starts as a veil settling over her head – a lightness that she mistakes for dawn. Then the power seeps into her – sliding down her spine and into her belly, roiling around her chest and bursting through her hands. The power hums in brilliant acceptance, and Natasha almost cries out loud with joy.

She bends her head, and takes her first breath.

Her knees buckle. The vampire hoard that was holding her is thrown off by her lack of resistance, and collapses. Natasha Romanov, Potential, disappears. Natasha Romanov, the Slayer, bursts up from the ground.

The vampires flail. Natasha is moving before their feet hit the ground. She kills five vampires before the first even realizes that it’s dead – and two more before the second one disappears into ash. Her stake is an extension of her body, and Natasha wants to laugh out loud with joy. 

How much more simple everything appears to be! She thought she knew how to fight before – she sees now that she was blind. The Slayer power is like adding color to the world, like Dorothy stepping out from her farmhouse in Oz. Natasha can feel the power singing through her veins; the ancient spirit of the Slayer rejoicing as the vampires in her wake turn to ash.

In three minutes, every vampire in the courtyard is dead. 

Natasha stands at the epicenter of the Compound, waiting. Her breath is coming fast, but she isn't tired. Her cuts and bruises have vanished, her exhaustion disappeared. She raises her hands and beckons, but the last of the vampires turn tail and run. Natasha laughs and wonders if she should chase after them. If she should make them truly regret this day.

The sun appears over the horizon. Natasha basks in its glory for a moment, the rays warm on her face. She hears the remaining vampires scream, and knows they are burning in the brilliant light of day. 

Natasha savors the sound for a moment, then takes a deep breath and looks around.

The joy leaves her swiftly. The Compound is destroyed. She can see the place where Viktor went down – there’s a hole in the wall, and smoke rising through the roof. Daniela, Anatoly, Makar, and Nikita – all of them are dead. Gone. She is the last Potential left.

No, she is not a Potential any more. 

Suddenly, Natasha buckles. The power within her fractures and vibrates. It hums. Natasha finds herself coughing; sucking in air like it's the only thing keeping her alive. Her heart beat pulses with the rhythm of another. For a moment, she is not only herself.

Slowly, the moment fades. The presence at the other end, the sympathetic hum, disappears. Natasha is left with the memory of drowning, the sensation of rock cool on her back, and the whispered relief of friends nearby. She comes back to herself to realize that she is on her hands and knees in the empty courtyard, her fingers cold where they dig into the ground.

Natasha takes a deep breath and stands. The power stabilizes within her. She fears for a moment she will lose it, that the power will reject her and vanish, but it holds. The echo of another lingers, though. Natasha traces the edges of that sympathetic hum.

She’s not alone. Someplace, somewhere, another Slayer has died. Unlike the rest, however, he’s been brought back to life. The power has stayed with them both – it hums, unused to being divided, but it does not leave her. It has accepted her as the Slayer.

Natasha squares her shoulders and walks away from the courtyard. She has to find a travel bag and pack what supplies she can. She will take one of the Compound cars and leave. 

She is no longer alone. Natasha clings to this thought as she scavenges what she can from the Compound. Someplace, somewhere, she has a brother.

And she will find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes “season one” of my BtVS AU. Season two is planned, but not yet in the works. Look forward to more, but don't hold your breath!


End file.
